


nothing good happens past 2am

by cassiewrites



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Clubbing, Dancing, Drunkenness, First Time, M/M, Memory Loss, Regret, bucky barnes is a mess in every universe, steve is a golden god
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-07-18 18:44:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7326112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassiewrites/pseuds/cassiewrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Bucky blacks out and spends the rest of his hangover trying to remember the man/angel/god/marble statue he may or may not have hooked up with the night before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	nothing good happens past 2am

 

 

_And what I thought was possible_

_Don't seem possible no more /_

_I never could keep up with you /_

_Can we forget how old I am?_

 

Song: [2AM](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VOlcDBXKhSU) by Bear Hands

 

* * *

 

 

Bucky wakes up like he wakes up every Friday morning; hungover, late for work, and full of regret.

He springs out of bed--at least, that’s what it feels like, when he sits up, groaning, and rolls one leg over the side of the mattress. He stretches his toes down until he feels the cold wood floor, then flips his other leg over and tries to repeat the act.

Time feels like it’s moving painfully slow. He finally manages to sit upright in bed, and as the blood rushes away from his head, it feels like his brain is pulsing against his skull. He moans again at the empty room and looks over at his clock. It flashes 12:00 repeatedly. He must’ve unplugged it last night at some point. Great, no clock means no alarm, which means, he’s gonna have to spring for a taxi to work. He usually bikes, but it takes twenty minutes at least, and as he stands up, wobbling, he’s sure that he wouldn’t be able to operate even light machinery right now.

He knows he’s late, judging by the light streaming through the window blinds. He picks up his phone in a last ditch effort to check just _how_ late but, of course, it’s dead. He plugs it into the charger to let it juice up for a few minutes while he gets ready.

He stares at his wardrobe for probably a full minute trying to remember what clothes are.

God, he got shitfaced last night.

Okay. Pants.

Shirt.

Underwear.

Wait, shit, underwear goes first.

(This goes on for a few minutes.)

In the end, he’s picked out a pair of black slacks, a blue button up, and sneakers, in lieu of the loafers he can’t find right now. He also packs a navy blue tie in his bag, but knows he won’t put it on unless the boss is around.

As he paces into the kitchen, he hopes that maybe his drunken self made a pot of coffee last night that’s still sitting on the counter, but his hopes are crushed. Instead, he finds the coffee pot halfway full with congealed ramen.

“Fuck drunk me, honestly,” Bucky mutters to himself.

Before he leaves, he picks up his phone and the charger, ignores every Snapchat notification he has, and texts Natasha.

_Coffee me pls nat_

By the way, 46 minutes. That’s how late he is.

 

* * *

 

By the time he gets to work, he’s an hour late.

It’s a miracle he hasn’t been fired by now, but his boss barely ever looks up from his own desk to notice anything that’s happening on the floor.

Bucky sneaks carefully through the front doors of the office and over to his secluded cubicle. Just as he sits down and puts his headset on, he senses a menacing presence from behind.

“ _Barnes._ ”

Perhaps his luck has run out.

Bucky spins around in his chair and puts on a nervous smile. “Mr. Carpenter, so nice to see you this morning! Are those new glasses?”

His boss frowns down at him. “Don’t bullshit me. You think I don’t know this is the fourth time you’ve been late this month?”

“I know, sir, I’m sorry, but I went out to get the mail this morning and got locked out of my apartment, can you believe it? It was a whole ordeal-”

“No more excuses. You’re an hour late, that’s inexcusable.”

“I know, I’m really sorry, it won’t happen again,” Bucky stammers out.

“You’re damn right, because if it does, you’ll be out of a job. Understand?” Carpenter raises a bushy eyebrow.

Bucky nods. “I understand, sir.”

By the end of the conversation, Bucky’s feeling humiliated. And moist. Mr. Carpenter expels little flecks of spittle when he speaks.

Bucky grabs a tissue from his desk and sighs, wiping his face off.

“That was rough, dude.”

Bucky looks up and sees the familiar face of Clint Barton, a coworker who sits in the cubicle next to his, leaning over the partition. He walks around the side, and immediately gets tugged back by the wire attached to his headset. He takes it off and tries that again.

“Morning, Clint,” Bucky sighs.

Clint seems like a typical lazy stoner guy, but he’s some sort of tech genius. They’re both just customer service reps at this computer company, but Clint could be building the computers and the entire code if he wanted.

“Is it? ‘Cause it’s almost time for my lunch break,” he smirks. Bucky doesn’t. “Don’t worry about Carpenter. That guy’s a dick, but he’s spineless. He never fires anyone. I mean, look at me, been here three years, and I’m asleep half the time.”

Bucky shrugs. “Yeah, but at least you show up.”

“C’mon, man, he couldn’t fire you if he tried. HR wouldn’t allow it, especially since you’ve got _friends_ there.” Clint raises his eyebrows a few times, but he’s not good at it, so it looks weird.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I do have friends. _Just friends._ Where is Natasha anyway?”

“Probably back in her office.”

Bucky gets out of his seat to go see her, but Clint grabs his shirt before he can leave. “Hey, if you’re really not banging Nat, could you put in a good word for me?”

He doesn’t respond to that, just turns and leaves.

Natasha’s door is already open, so he doesn’t bother knocking. Not that he would if it were closed. They’ve been friends for years, they used to live with each other. At this point, he couldn’t be shocked by anything he walked in on.

She’s on the phone, so Bucky walks in and closes the door behind him quietly. Natasha raises her eyebrows to acknowledge him, then snaps her fingers down at the two cups of Starbucks sitting on her desk. Bucky knows the white cup is his, she likes hers iced.

 _Thank you,_ he mouths, then takes a deep sip of hot, life-giving coffee.

She finishes her call, then greets him with a too-chipper smile. “Morning, sleeping beauty.”

“More like grim reaper.” He doesn’t have to look in a mirror to see his scruffy three-day-old beard, or the bags under his eyes that he can feel sinking deeper.

Looking at her, she’s the real sleeping beauty. Girls put in so much more effort. She has her hair curled, blazer on, she’s even wearing lipstick. “God, I hate that you don’t get hangovers, you’re a fucking alien.”

She smirks. “I might be, but you’re the one who got _probed_ last night.”

It takes Bucky a moment to understand the innuendo. “What? No. I didn’t sleep with anyone. Did I?”

As he speaks the question aloud, he adjusts in his seat. No, his ass feels fine. No probing...probably.

She cocks an eyebrow. “You don’t remember?”

Bucky squints up at the ceiling, willing his brain to bring back the memories he drowned in alcohol.

Nat laughs once, mirthlessly. “You’re a mess, Barnes. How many shots did you sneak while I was in the bathroom?”

Still squinting, he scrunches his nose up. “Jello shots don’t count, right...”

She rolls her eyes _hard_. “How about I start talking, and you tell me when you remember something.”

“That might work.”

 

* * *

 

**_The Night Before - 10:20 P.M._ **

 

“I can’t believe you dragged me out to a club, are we twenty again?” Bucky shouts over the bass-thumping music.

Natasha takes his hand and drags him out on to the dance floor. “Boo you, old man, we’re only twenty-five. Live a little!”

Bucky says something else, but she can’t hear, so she pulls his face closer to her ear.

“I said, easy for you to say,” he repeats, “You’re a fucking bombshell. Hot girls always have fun at clubs.”

She laughs brightly. “At least try to have fun! Dance with me.” She puts her hands on his hips and moves them side to side, swaying together.

Bucky doesn’t smile, but keeps dancing, or doing whatever it is they’re doing. At least, until her eyes drift behind him, spotting a better partner.

“Go ahead,” he sighs, pulling away from her. “I’ll be at the bar.”

She smiles and squeezes his hand before he leaves. The next time he turns around, he sees her wrapped around a buff dude with stitches under his eye. She sure can pick ‘em.

“Hey, buddy,” someone says, like they’re not actually his buddy.

Bucky turns back toward the bar.

“You gonna order something?” The hefty bartender says, losing patience.

“Uh, yeah, just a shot of Jager,” Bucky decides. Within moments, he’s pouring that shot down his throat.

And then a second.

And then a third.

Jager does not go down easy.

By this time, he’s feeling a little tipsy already, and heads back over to the dance floor. His hands roam over the people like he’s at a store feeling clothes on racks. No one notices, or if they do, he doesn’t notice them.

He sees a couple girls dancing together, laughing and having fun, and thinks, maybe they’ll let me have fun with them too!

They don’t. They shove him away, he falls backward, right on his ass.

 

* * *

 

“Okay, I remember all of this. Wait, you saw that? God, I must’ve looked like a loser.” Bucky frowns remembering this story, wondering how it’s important to the full plot at all.

“Yeah, you did,” Natasha smiles, taking a sip of her frappucino.

Bucky follows that action, taking a long drag of his own coffee. He’s almost finished with it now, and his headache is being replaced with a light buzz.

“Do you remember what happened after that?” Natasha asks, leading him on.

“Yeah, um...” Bucky racks his brain. He got pushed down, fell on some people, looked up some skirts, and finally someone helped him up. “Some guy pulled me up? He was like, really strong, he only used one arm.”

The scene comes back into view.

 

* * *

 

**_The Night Before - 10:53  P.M._ **

 

“Are you okay?”

Bucky brushes himself off, and pulls his pants up a bit. He’d forgotten to wear a belt. He pats his back pocket, making sure his wallet is still there, and feels something strange.

At this point, he hasn’t even looked at who helped him up, but pivots his hips and asks the guy, “Hey, is there gum on my jeans, or just a beer stain?”

He looks up, and makes eye contact with the most beautiful man he’s ever seen. No, not even a man, too good for humanity. An angel, a god, right before his very eyes.

The angel smirks, looking slightly confused, and says, “No gum. Probably beer, but who knows what’s on this floor.”

Bucky stares at him for too long, and then realizes what he said, and laughs too hard. Then he realizes he’s literally presenting his ass to what may the modern incarnation of Jesus Christ Himself.

For some reason, the angel messiah has not dematerialized yet, and he is still standing right in front of Bucky, glowing from the top of his golden head to the bottom of his toes. That jaw had to be chiseled out of marble, topaz embedded into his eyes.

At one point, Bucky finds himself wondering, is he a statue? Am I really that plastered? He places his hand on the angel statue’s chest, bracing himself for cold, hard marble.

Instead, he feels cotton, layered over a chest that’s still pretty solid, but warm, and definitely human.

“You sure you’re okay?” When the angel man smiles, he reveals a flash of white teeth.

Bucky looks down at his own hand, pressed against a stranger’s chest, and realizes what a total fucking idiot he’s being.

He removes his hand and stammers out, “Yeah, I’m- God, I must be drunk, sorry, yeah, I’m okay. Thanks.”

The angel--not an angel, just a human man--gives him a strange look, but he’s still smiling. Why hasn’t he run far away from Bucky already?

“You don’t seem drunk enough to be stumbling all over yourself yet. How’d you fall?” He asks.

“Pushed, actually. By some, uh, huge dude. Twice my size. Twice your size! And that’s saying something. _Jesus._ ” Bucky mutters the last part of that trainwreck of a sentence to himself.

“Well, uh, take care of yourself, pal,” the stranger says politely.

That sounds like the end of their interaction, and suddenly, desperately, Bucky needs to keep talking to this man, keep looking at him, forever and ever until death do they part.

“You know-” Bucky says, almost shouting, trying to keep his attention. “I can’t guarantee that I’ll take care of myself, because I’m definitely going back over to the bar now, so you might want to come with me.”

He says that in the most chill way that he can possibly think of without flat-out saying, “ _Please have a drink with me and maybe let me blow you._ ”

“Okay, sure,” the stranger smiles.

For a second, Bucky’s brain malfunctions, but then he remembers which question came out of his mouth, and it wasn’t the one about the blowie.

Bucky nods and smiles back.

“I’m Bucky, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you, Bucky. I’m Steve.”

 _Steve._ A chorus of angels sing his name in unison, and Bucky can’t imagine that he’s ever heard a name so ordinary sound so magnificent.

 

* * *

 

_“Steve.”_

The name leaves Bucky’s mouth like a prayer.

Natasha frowns. “That was his name? You sure? He looked more like a...Chad. Or a Logan.”

“No, it was Steve.” Bucky says very seriously. _A name that I will never hear the same ever again..._

“So, did you guys hook up?” Natasha leans forward in her seat, waiting for details.

Bucky thinks really hard, but now his memories feel even hazier, masked by the disbelief that a man like Steve exists. Not just _like_ him, but him exactly, somewhere. “I...I don’t think so.”

“You still don’t know!” Natasha scolds.

“I would, right? If we’d hooked up? That’s not something I’d forget!” There’s no way Bucky could sleep with a man that hot and not remember it.

With his memories being of no use to him right now, his imagination takes over.

Maybe, they got back to his place, and Steve took off his clothes and Bucky passed out immediately.

Maybe, Bucky drank too much and blacked out and puked all over Steve, and now if Steve ever does see him again, he’ll remember him as some disgusting alcoholic who ruined his favorite shirt.

Or maybe, possibly the worst thought of all, they had a quickie in the bathroom at the club, and Bucky will never see him again, nor will he remember what bliss that must’ve been.

“Carpenter is coming over, you might want to go back to your desk,” Natasha warns him, gesturing to the small window looking into the rest of the office.

“Okay,” Bucky says, and finishes the last of his coffee before he gets up. “But please, use your super sleuth skills to track him down if you get the chance, okay.”

Natasha puts on her business woman face, crossing her arms and nodding her head. “I’ll make that my number one priority. Even above the actual work I get paid to do. This man will sire your children, I promise you.”

That last part was kinda weird, but she means well. He slips out of her office and back to his own cubicle, dreading doing work now that he remembers some of what happened last night.

Still, Bucky gets on a customer service call quickly before his boss comes around, making sure to look very busy and helpful.

 

* * *

 

The lunch break comes soon, but seeing as how Bucky’s past two meals have been of the liquid variety, it can’t start early enough. He looks into his bag, thinking that he might’ve made himself a sandwich or something last night. Drunk Bucky actually pulled through! Kind of. If you call lettuce, mayonnaise, and bacon bits on a bagel a sandwich. He eats it with caution.

A couple bites into the sandwich, he decides it’s not that bad, but he wishes he had a plate of huevos rancheros right now. Or any kind of food that you can sop up with bread, that’s the best hangover food. There might be some food trucks outside today, so he pulls out his wallet to go check it out. What he pulls out, instead of his wallet, is a navy blue tie.

The silky fabric of the tie triggers something in him, and a memory comes flooding back.

 

* * *

 

**_The Night Before - 12:06  A.M._ **

 

Steve downs another Jello shot, and by now, Bucky has lost count of how many they’ve had. Steve’s starting to get flushed pink in his cheeks, but otherwise seems too sober. Too much muscle. Bucky’s trying to keep up with him, but there’s no way he can without getting completely shitfaced. Hell, he might be shitfaced already. He really hopes he isn’t, because he doesn’t want to make a bad impression on this beautiful angel man he just met tonight.

They’ve been around the bar for a while, and Bucky is just noticing the girls who have seemingly joined them for shots, gathering around the two of them, and getting very handsy.

Bucky gets a little handsy, too, but not with any of them. Any other night, he’d be loving the attention, but tonight he’s got all eyes on Steve. He places his hand on Steve’s arm, squeezes a little maybe, then hops out of his seat and declares, “We have to dance!”

“Yeah!” The girls agree in unison. A brunette takes Bucky’s hand and starts to lead him away, but he’s not leaving without Steve.

“C’mon, Stevie, I know you’ve got some moves up your sleeve,” Bucky goads, talking to him like they’ve known each other their whole lives, instead of just an hour.

Steve finally shrugs and agrees, allowing himself to be led by the brunette’s friend. For some reason, Bucky remembers her name being Margo.

Girls are much better dancers than guys. That said, guys barely dance at all. It’s pathetic. Guys just stand there, nodding their head or fist bumping. It’s hard not to look like a douche when you’re trying to dance in a club, but Bucky’s trying his hardest, especially in front of Steve.

Steve looks great, though. Not really dancing, but moving his hips, swaying in a nice way. Bucky notices, he doesn’t reciprocate much when women try to grind on him or anything. He’s not paying much attention to them at all. One girl raises her arm up to him, and he takes her hand and twirls her around like a gentleman. She spins away laughing.

Margo, if that’s her name, has all her attention on Bucky, rubbing against his chest, digging a hand into his hair, and for a moment he gives in. He likes girls, after all. It’s not every day a beautiful woman is rubbing herself against him.

When he looks back at Steve, he’s not swaying anymore.

Bucky brings his lips right up against Margo’s ear and says, “Hey, doll, I think my friend needs some attention, too.”

She pulls Steve in by his tie, until it’s just the three of them in their own personal bubble. Steve doesn’t look relaxed, necessarily, but not like he wants to leave.

Margo between them, Bucky grazes his hands along her waist, and reaches even further to feel Steve’s, too. At this point, Bucky doesn’t know whether it’s because he’s drunk or super turned on, he can’t take his eyes off Steve, they feel glued in his direction. Not that Steve minds, by the way his gaze doesn’t flinch either.

He doesn’t really notice when Margo stop dancing, or when she slips away, just that there’s a space between him and Steve that shouldn’t be there.

Bucky tugs on his tie again, pulls him closer. “You look like Superman.”

Steve smiles. “Why’s that?”

“This tie, that button-up. Looks like you could just rip it off and go fight crime.” Bucky feels like he’s whispering, but he can’t be, not if Steve can hear him.

“Maybe I will,” Steve says, and maybe he’s whispering, too. Maybe the whole club has gone silent and the only beat Bucky hears is his own heart.

In an act of courage that he’s never experienced before, Bucky undoes Steve’s tie, pulling at the knot, until the two ends lay flat against Steve’s shirt. He takes the two ends, tugging Steve’s face closer to his, until their mouths are just touching.

Steve doesn’t pull back, which is the first shock Bucky feels, and the second shock is when Steve presses closer, and feels Steve’s tongue dip into his mouth.

There’s that line, from _Perks Of Being A Wallflower,_ that’s so cliche and overused now, but every cell in Bucky’s body is screaming it.

 _I feel infinite_.

 

* * *

 

Bucky clutches the tie in his hand. _Steve’s tie._ It’s like his mind is playing a game of Clue, but instead of Colonel Mustard with the candlestick in the conservatory, it’s Bucky with a necktie in a nightclub.

He’s never been so frustrated mentally and sexually at the same time. He couldn’t have waited just one day to have this life-changing experience, so he wouldn’t have to experience it all day at work? Just one more day, and he could’ve been lying in his bed half-hard on his day off, and maybe do something about it, instead of at work with no release.

With that, he forgets all about the food trucks. Bacon bagel at his desk, it is.

Feeling as though his mind has hit a dead end, Bucky takes out his phone and looks at his notifications. He reads through several drunk texts exchanged between him and Natasha, gets a laugh out of that, and then makes sure he didn’t drunk text anyone else.

He goes through his list of contacts, searches for “Steve,” no results, except for his dentist. Desperately, he looks through every name on his contacts list for anything out of the ordinary, like maybe they had an inside joke he doesn’t remember, but no luck.

He checks Snapchat, looks at some of his friends stories. Most of his Snapchat friends are people from this office, or pals from the military. A lot of them have families, though, and every day he finds himself thinking, _We get it, you have a baby! You don’t need to document every second of her life!_

Before he closes the app, he scrolls up and looks at his own username, and sees that he has a story. It’s a bad sign when you don’t remember ever recording a story. It’s a worse sign when your blackout story is over one hundred seconds long.

He watches every second, painfully.

It starts out normally. It’s night, after work was over. A picture of a dog. Next, a video of him zooming in on the dog. Next, a sneaky pic of Natasha in her car with the dog filter. She hates that filter, which makes it even funnier. He vaguely remembers all of these.

Then it starts to get hazy. And annoying, honestly. He’s never been one of those people who films huge stories at concerts or clubs, but here he is. Just blurry videos of bright strobe lights and blaring music.

He’s surprised to see the next video is one of himself, filmed by someone else. Him...and _Steve_. At the bar. The sight of them doing Jello shots makes him want to puke, but also makes him incredibly happy to see Steve’s face, even for a few seconds. Wait, is Steve...plugging his nose to take a shot? That’s so...Bucky laughs, both in the video and in current time. Then the camera flips around and it’s the brunette he was dancing with.

It goes on a little longer, a few shots of her and her friends, and finally ends with a picture that shows Bucky just how indecent he got last night. A squinting, brooding selfie of him with the dog filter.

He closes the app. But not before he goes back to the video of him and Steve and screenshots it.

 

* * *

 

By the end of the day, Bucky is feeling hopeless that he’ll ever see Steve again. He takes off his headset, grabs his bag, and stops by Natasha’s office to say goodbye.

He peeks his head in the door and does a little wave. “Hey, Nat, I’m heading off. See you tomorrow-”

“Wait!” She snaps her fingers and gestures him over. “Come in, I think I have a lead.”

Intrigued, but still not too hopeful, he steps inside and takes a seat across from her. “What kind of lead?”

“Well,” Natasha begins, holding up one finger. “Do you know my friend Wanda?”

Bucky thinks for a moment. “Uhh, is that the Russian stripper?”

Natasha glares at him. “Sokovian principal ballet dancer. Anyway, she’s the one who told me about the club, so I texted her and asked if she knew anyone named Steve, and gave her his description. She said she didn’t know his name, but knew the friend who he came with.”

“Nat, just skip to the end,” Bucky pleads, feeling tired and anxious at the same time.

“Shush, you’ll ruin it,” she replies dismissively, then continues on. “So, Wanda knew Steve’s friend, Sam, because his girlfriend was in the same dance class as her.”

“Steve’s girlfriend?” Bucky asks, confused.

“No, Sam’s girlfriend. Pay attention.” Natasha speaks quickly and excitedly, which is so unlike her usual self. Bucky always assumed she liked her job, but it must be pretty boring if Bucky’s love life was a more interesting research topic. “So, Wanda texted Sam’s girlfriend and gave me his number, which took longer than expected, because most girls don’t want to give their boyfriend’s number to random strangers.”

Bucky nods, agreeing.

“So I finally got a hold of Sam just a few minutes ago, and explained the situation, and he said he’d call Steve and let him know where to meet you.”

“Where to meet me...? What?” Bucky blinks hard a few times, processing what she’s just told him. “So, you didn’t get Steve’s number?”

“No, sorry,” she apologizes, “I did ask, but Sam said he wasn’t comfortable giving out his friend’s number to someone who might be a stalker.”

 _Okay, that’s understandable,_ Bucky thinks. “But did you give him my number at least?”

Natasha opens her mouth, shuts it, then starts speaking. “That would’ve been a good idea. If I’d thought of it.”

“Romanoff!” Bucky cries, holding his arms out in disbelief.

“I’m sorry! It was taking in a lot of information at one time! But I did give him this address.” She says the last sentence like it’s supposed to save the rest of this flawed plan.

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “ _This_ address? You mean, this office?”

Natasha nods sheepishly, realizing now what kind of mistake that was.

He slumps back in his seat, grimacing. “So, I’m just supposed to sit here, possibly all night, waiting for a guy that might never show up?”

Natasha shrugs. “If he means that much to you...”

Bucky knows what a dumb plan this is, and knows he might wake up tomorrow feeling like an idiot having waited for Steve, but she’s right.

Steve doesn’t mean that much to him, not yet. But he could. And that means something.

“Think of it this way,” Natasha starts, attempting to calm his nerves, “Now you can catch up on the work you missed. Carpenter will probably be impressed.”

“Listen, Nat, I’m really glad that you went out of your way to get me this job, but I don’t care about it. And I’m not good at it. People call me trying to fix their problems, and just end up with more.”

She places a hand on his in an empty attempt at comfort. “You’re still learning, you’ll get the hang of it.”

_What if I don’t want to?_

He doesn’t say the question aloud, just looks at her with sad, tired eyes, and slumps out of her office, back to his lonely cubicle.

 

* * *

 

Bucky’s been staring at the screensaver on his computer monitor for what feels like hours. It’s a little windows symbol floating around the screen, bouncing off the sides. A few times, it almost perfectly hits the corner, which is what kept him hooked in the first place.

He finally shakes the mouse, nudging it awake, and checks the time. 6:30 P.M. So, it’s only been an hour, but still an hour of time wasted. He could’ve been home right now eating a frozen TV dinner and watching The History Channel, like he usually does.

In the cubicle next to him, Clint stands up, and does a double take when he looks over the partition. “Oh. Hey Barnes. Thought you’d left by now.”

Bucky shrugs. “Oh, yeah, just finishing up some work. Waiting for a friend.”

“Well, don’t stay up too late,” Clint says. “See you tomorrow.”

Bucky nods. “Goodnight, Clint.”

Clint waves, smirking. “Night.”

So, now Bucky is alone. Not really, there are a few people left in the office, but none of his friends. Even Natasha left half an hour ago. This is her fault, and she won’t even stay to see it through to the end.

Bucky sighs.

It’s not her fault. She was just trying to make him happy. It’s Bucky’s fault for falling for a stranger, convincing himself that he knew Steve better than any of his other random hookups. And they didn’t even hook up, as far as Bucky remembers.

Feeling pathetic, sorry for himself, and most of all _hungry,_ he decides it’s time to leave. He turns off his computer, grabs his bag once again, and sets off to his night of lonely night of Lean Cuisines and Gulf War documentaries.

They’re only on the fifth floor, so he takes the stairs down. Maybe the movement will get out some of the anxiety he’s been feeling all day.

As he reaches the ground level and nears the door exiting the stairwell, he hears people talking outside of it. Not talking, arguing.

“...couldn’t even have a visitor’s pass or something?”

There’s something so familiar about that voice. Bucky opens the door. The first person he sees is a security guard, one who works for the building. He’s holding a hand up to another man that Bucky can’t get a good view of.

“The offices are closed, sir,” the guard says sternly.

The other man sighs in irritation. Every syllable is spoken with urgency. “I know, I get that, but I think I might-”

“Steve?” Bucky doesn’t even realize it when the word leaves his mouth.

Steve looks over to him, away from the guard he’s been arguing with. He’s wearing jeans and a bomber jacket over a plain t-shirt, even tighter than the shirt he was wearing last night. The ridges of his abs are almost visible through the thin fabric.

He looks so surprised to see Bucky, mouth falling open, until a single word escapes. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Bucky returns.

“You know this man, sir?” The security guard asks Bucky, glancing at the ID tag hanging from Bucky’s pocket.

“Uh, yeah, don’t worry about it, thank you,” he replies absentmindedly to the guard. The guard nods and goes back to his post by the front entrance.

Then it’s just the two of them. Steve and Bucky.

“My name is Steve Rogers.”

Bucky almost laughs. “I know who you are.”

Steve takes a step closer. “You do, but not really. I’m twenty-six. I’m a starving artist who does more starving than art. I served five years in the army. I never go to clubs, but I’m really glad I did last night.”

Speechless. That’s Bucky, now. He has no idea what to say to this man, standing before him, attempting to do what Bucky hopes is a romantic gesture.

“I’m, uh,” Bucky swallows hard. “I’m Bucky Barnes. I’m twenty-five. I’m from Brooklyn. I’m a customer service rep, but I kinda hate my job. Until a few hours ago I couldn’t remember your name, but now I can’t get you out of my mind, Steve Rogers.”

Steve huffs a laugh, and it’s kind of dorky, because he looks so genuinely relieved. It’s adorable, and he’s still the most beautiful man Bucky’s ever seen, but good to see that he’s not so unbelievably perfect in the light of day.

At the same time, they both ask,

“You’re from Brooklyn?”

“You were in the army?”

Then pause, and laugh.

Bucky takes a step closer, and prefaces, “Before we start telling our life stories, can I just do one thing?”

Steve nods.

In sync, they lean forward and close the needless space between them, kissing just like they had the night before. To Bucky’s relief, it’s just as good when they’re not drunk. Even better, maybe, not so sloppy.

“Another thing- and, I really do want to know all about you, but first I’m going to need a quick reminder on how we ended last night.”

“You don’t remember?” Steve looks less judgey than Bucky had anticipated, more amused than anything.

“I don’t black out often, okay. But, unfortunately, last night I did. I was just trying to keep up with you, so it’s your fault, really.”

Steve laughs, but Bucky’s not sure why.

“Come on, you can’t leave me hanging after a kiss like that.” Bucky shoves his arm playfully.

Steve catches his hand and intertwines it with his own. That’s too cute, that’s illegal. Bucky’s known this man for less than twenty-four hours and he’s already making him blush. “You really don’t remember how last night ended? It’s pretty funny, actually...”

 

* * *

 

**_The Night Before - 1:58 A.M._ **

 

“I think they’re gonna kick us out,” Steve mumbles against Bucky’s stubble.

“Why would th’y do that,” Bucky replies, slurring his words slightly. He can’t help but nip at Steve’s jaw, the one he thought was made of marble. Turns out it’s just skin, but still a really nice jaw.

“‘Cause we’re the hottest people in here, makin’ everyone else jealous,” Steve whispers, low and gritty into his ear. He’s had his hands cupped around Bucky’s ass for half an hour, it’s fucking gratuitous. Jokes aside, how much further until they actually get kicked out of this club.

“Let ‘em try, we’ll fight off all the bouncers,” Bucky teases. He grazes his hand over the ridges of Steve’s biceps and adds, “Well, you can take most of ‘em.”

The corner of Steve’s mouth drags upwards into a half-smirk. He rests his forehead on Bucky’s and asks, “You wanna get out of here?”

“Yes,” Bucky says, without hesitation, then remembers. “I came here with my friend-”

He looks around the club, just a quick 360 glance, and then continues, “She’s probably gone by now, let’s go.”

When they finally leave the club, it’s like exiting the lair of some mythical creature that keeps you captive with booze and a hypnotic beat. Bucky didn’t realize how hazy it was in there until he walked out into the fresh air, and his lungs suddenly thanked him for leaving. Another minute of vape smoke would have him wheezing for days.

They leave with Steve’s arm around his neck, staggering, clinging to each other like they have been for hours.

“I’ll call an Uber,” Bucky says. He takes his phone out of his pocket, presses the on button a few times, and mutters, “Shit. Dead.”

“I got it,” Steve says. He pats his pockets, all four, front and back, suddenly frowning. He even pivots around to look at the back of his jeans, and now he looks worried. “I lost my phone. And my wallet! Dammit.”

“We’re not havin’ good luck, pal,” Bucky says, shaking his head. He still has his wallet, though, and hopefully enough cash to afford the cab ride home.

Steve disentangles himself from Bucky, staggers back a little bit, and says, “I’m gonna go back and look for my stuff, wait here, I’ll be back.”

He runs back into the club, leaving Bucky standing alone, swaying a bit. He can still hear a faint thumping of music from inside.

 _Wait here,_ Steve said. But the Earth is moving, Bucky can’t stand in one spot for too long. He looks around, for a bench or something, but there are no benches in this part of town.

There’s a patch of grass, though, and that looks soft enough to sit on. He sinks down into the grass, slumped against something that feels like a bush.

In the seconds that follow, he knows that’s a bush, because he leans over and pukes directly into it.

“You okay, hon?”

When he turns and looks up, he’s expecting to see Steve, but instead sees Margo, the girl he was dancing with earlier.

“Bucky, right?”

He nods. She bends down to his level, looking concerned.

“You need a ride home?”

He looks over to the entrance of the club, then back at her, and nods again.

She helps him stand up, not as easily as Steve would have, but still helpful. She weaves her arm under his to keep him upright, then leads him over to her car waiting by the curb. There are already other people waiting in it, and Bucky gets the last seat.

The last, final thing that he remembers from the night before is a guy in the front seat leaning over and telling him, “If you puke in my car, I’ll kill you.”

 

* * *

 

“I ditched you,” Bucky mutters, horrified, while simultaneously thinking, _and cockblocked myself._

Steve laughs. “By the time I found my phone, you’d disappeared, so I took the hint and Ubered home alone.”

“Trust me, that wasn’t a hint, I was just wasted,” Bucky tells him, then buries his face in his hands. “God, I’m so embarrassed.”

Steve’s smile is warm and comforting. “Don’t be.”

Bucky peeks through his hand. “You don’t think I’m a disgusting mess?”

Steve gently removes his hands from his face so he can look him in the eye. “I think we were both pretty messy last night.”

Bucky looks at him for a moment, lost in his eyes, then asks, “Can we start over?”

“Please,” Steve agrees. “Do you want me to repeat my whole introduction?”

Bucky returns his warm smile. “Let’s skip forward just a little bit. Do you want to have dinner with me, Steve Rogers?”

“I’d love to, Bucky Barnes.”

 

-

 

They don’t go to a fancy restaurant. It’s barely a restaurant at all, actually. It’s a little burger flipping diner close to Bucky’s apartment, the only place he could think of. They both quickly agreed they liked burgers, so it was the easiest place to go.

Halfway through the meal, after they’ve passed the conversation on how many tours in the army they had, where they were stationed, all of that, Bucky gets a blast of texts from Natasha.

_Did he show up?_

_He’s an idiot if he didn’t._

_Don’t worry about it, you’ll find someone better._

_Let’s go out tonight! First round on me._

And then a line of random emojis, including several eggplants.

He quickly texts back: _He showed up_.

After that, he turns off his notifications.

At the end of the meal, after they’ve seen each other with meat juice dripping down their hands and grease pooled in the sides of their mouths, they’ve still decided they like each other.

Steve gazes at Bucky like he’s the only person in the world that matters to him, and Bucky finds himself wondering, not for the first time, how he’s only known this boy for a day.

“You know, the offer still stands,” Steve says, without context, as Bucky wipes his hand on a napkin.

Bucky stops and looks at him inquisitively.

Steve raises an eyebrow. “To go back to my place. You know, the place we didn’t end up last night.”

Bucky can’t help but smile. “How do you do that? First you’re talking about the dog you adopted, then you’re pulling a smooth move like that?”

Steve looks down, but he can’t hide the blush rising in his cheeks.

Bucky reaches over the table and lifts his chin up. “It’s a really tempting offer, but my place is closer.”

“Your place it is.” With a smile, Steve lays down a few bills on the table for tip and stands, offering Bucky his hand like a gentleman.

 

* * *

 

They can barely keep their hands off each other in the distance it takes them to get from Steve’s car to Bucky’s front door. They have to walk up a staircase, too, which makes it all the more challenging. In the hallway, they pass Bucky’s elderly neighbor, and she gets a good look at Steve groping him from behind, already undoing Bucky’s belt. Bucky’s never known himself to be an exhibitionist, but Steve seemingly brings out in him. Bucky says a quick hello to his neighbor, and she immediately ducks back into her apartment.

“My neighbors are gonna think I’m a downright floozy,” Bucky teases as he quickly searches through his pockets for his keys. At his front door, he can barely focus on fitting the key in the lock with Steve pressed up against him. The only thing on his mind is Steve fitting _his_ key in-- I won’t finish that sentence.

The door finally opens, and Bucky realizes how messy his apartment is right now. The ramen is still in the coffee pot. So much regret.

“Do you want some, ah, water or something?” Bucky asks, if a bit awkwardly. He wants to be polite, offer his guest some water, before he rips his clothes off.

“I’m good,” Steve mutters into the soft skin of his neck. Bucky rolls his head back, and Steve flicks his tongue along the rope of muscle under his jaw.

They would look so desperate, if anyone else were to see them, standing in the living room, groping each other, mouths trailing over any open skin.

Bucky’s been hard for the past ten minutes at least, and feeling Steve pressed into his back, he can tell he’s the same. It’s embarrassing, Bucky’s on edge already just standing here, fully clothed.

“God, Steve, you’re gonna make me ruin these pants,” Bucky moans.

Steve backs off a little, leading Bucky to turn around and face him, pressing their foreheads together. “Sorry, I don’t usually act like this,” he huffs a laugh. He’s so flushed, he looks just like he did last night. “Something about you makes me go crazy, Buck.”

 _Buck_. That’s a nickname he hasn’t heard in a while, but it makes him smile. “I like a little crazy. But, you know, I have bed, which happens to be ten feet to your left.”

Steve follows his lead, but not before pulling his shirt at the hem and tugging it over his head. That sight alone makes Bucky’s dick twitch.

It’s dark in Bucky’s room, but there’s enough moonlight streaming through the blinds that it gives the place a little extra _ambiance_.

Bucky feels Steve’s muscles ripple as he pushes him down on the bed, something Bucky loves to do, especially to a big strong man like Steve. It’s not like Bucky himself is skinny, he still sticks to his military workout, but Steve takes that workout above and beyond. Basically, he’s ripped beyond belief, which isn’t such a shock considering how tight his shirts are.

Steve looks a little taken aback by the shift in control, but intrigued. He sits up on his elbows to watch Bucky.

Bucky unbuttons his own shirt and discards it onto the floor, then bends down onto his knees, aligning himself with the mattress. He pulls Steve’s thighs closer to the edge, which takes some force, but the effect makes Bucky smirk. Steve’s eyebrows are raised, even as Bucky palms over his crotch and pulls down the zipper to his jeans. He tugs his jeans down over his ass, which also takes some force, because he has a bubble butt for sure.

Steve is watching, nearly drooling, until the moment Bucky’s mouth closes over his dick. His head falls backward, crying out, “Ho- _Holy shit._ ”

Bucky doesn’t start out slow at all. He sucks in deep, completely down the length of Steve’s shaft, which is quite a feat considering Steve is not small, not in the least. He bobs his head up and down in Steve’s lap, silently thanking God that they didn’t do this last night when Bucky’s gag reflex was at its peak.

He gets off on the shiver that runs through Steve’s body, the jolt of energy from having something hot wrapped around his cock, a feeling that Bucky himself very much appreciates.

Not to mention the sounds Steve is making, it’s completely pornographic. Not too loud and whiny, though, just deep moans coupled with staggered breathing.

“Jesus Chr- _ah,_ you’re good, you’re so good Bucky,” he stammers out at one point.

Bucky doesn’t want to blow it all now, though--pun intended. He pops his mouth off Steve’s dick with a lewd smacking sound and starts to unzip his own strained slacks. Steve watches him with half-lidded eyes, hands clutched loosely on the sheets, as Bucky takes off his pants and boxers and kicks them to the side.

Bucky hops over to one side of the bed, searching through his nightstand with shaking hands. He finally finds a condom and squints at the label through the darkness to make sure it’s one with lube.

“ _Bucky,_ ” Steve whines, getting restless. It only takes a moment for him to make another sound, this time an _oof_ as Bucky presses all his weight down on his thighs. From Bucky’s perspective, he’s pretty comfortable.

Steve props an arm under his head to get a better view of the man sitting on his lap. Bucky doesn’t bother trying to tear the condom wrapper open with his teeth, because he doesn’t want to risk tearing a hole in this one-- which is something he’s done before.

He tosses the wrapper aside and rolls the condom down his partner’s length. Just the touch makes Steve moan blissfully.

Bucky lowers down, inches from Steve’s face, and whispers, “You wanna fuck me, Stevie?”

Steve’s eyes practically roll back into his head. “Keep talkin’ like that, you’re not even gonna give me the chance.” His Brooklyn accent comes out a bit in that phrase, reminds Bucky of home. He kisses him once, flicks his tongue in, just to give him a taste.

Bucky sits back up, all the way bent on his knees, and lines himself up with Steve’s dick, which is throbbing, aching at this point. Bucky isn’t far from the same. Now, he hasn’t been _probed_ , so to speak, in a while, but he’s stretched enough on his own, and mostly, he’s too impatient.

There’s a definite burn as he sinks down lower onto Steve’s lap, but nothing he can’t handle. By the time he takes it all in, the burn is subsiding.

He looks down at Steve, jaw fully slack and eyebrows arched high. No sound escapes him until Bucky stretches up, then grinds back down harder.

“Ohhh- oh my _God,_ you have to go slower,” Steve pleads. The muscles in his neck are jutting out already.

Bucky leans closer and says, “Whatever you want.” He wants to make this last as long as possible.

Steve’s hands rub over his lower back, keeping him close as Bucky thrusts up and down, rolling his hips. Bucky feels Steve’s hands move down greedily, grabbing at his ass, squeezing. It feels so good, everything, so much better than he’d even hoped.

He goes slow, as Steve wanted, but selfishly, Bucky likes it when Steve makes that little gasping sound as he speeds up. Up to this point, Bucky hasn’t touched himself at all, and he can feel himself throbbing as he bobs up and down. He reaches for his cock, wrapping a hand around tightly. Steve sees this, covers his hand around Bucky’s, and starts pumping with him.

Now it’s Bucky who’s making the noise, even louder than Steve. He doesn’t even care if his neighbors hear, wouldn’t even care if they were standing in the room watching.

“ _Buck,_ I’m- I’m gonna-” The strain in Steve’s voice is enough to give away what his next words would be.

With a hefty groan, he thrusts up, deeper into Bucky, and that’s enough to send Bucky on his own release.

His back arches up, burying Steve further into him, which he didn’t even think was possible. Steve pumps with him as he comes, spilling all over his chest. Steve, with his tongue hanging out, catches some in his mouth, too. He swallows, even dragging his finger along his chest and licking that up. He pulls out as Bucky collapses on him, both breathing hard and heavy.

“Oh my God...” Bucky exhales. Every part of his body feels too weak to detach himself from his partner.

“Oh my _God,_ ” Steve agrees.

Bucky lifts his head, just enough to align his mouth with Steve’s. They share lazy, open-mouthed kisses for a few minutes, until Bucky’s knees start to ache and he rolls over to the side. He lay blissfully with Steve’s arm tucked under his neck.

It isn’t more than five minutes after that Steve turns his head, raises an eyebrow, and says, “Wanna go again?”

Bucky, who’s still recovering from the last round, looks at him like he’s crazy. “You are Superman!”

 

* * *

 

Bucky is woken up by a very unwelcome alarm.

He leans over the bed and feels around his nightstand, grabs the clock and rips it out of the wall. Only, it wasn’t plugged in at all, and the alarm is still blaring. He checks his phone, but it’s not even on.

He hears a groan from the other side of the bed, and nearly forgot that someone was there.

With a glance to his left, he sees Steve sleeping soundly, his arm thrown over his face. It must be his alarm.

“Steve,” Bucky whispers. He says it again, a little louder. Steve groans in response. “Where’s your phone?”

Steve’s nose scrunches up, clearly not a morning person. “Mmm...pants.”

Pants. Under the bed, right. Bucky leans over and grabs his pants, searches the pockets until he finds the phone and turns off the villainous alarm.

When Bucky lays his head back down on his pillow, Steve’s hand moves over to play with his hair.

“G’morning,” Steve says with a smirk. His eyes are barely open.

“Morning. Glad to see you didn’t sneak out while I was asleep,” Bucky teases.

Steve tries to laugh, but it comes out as a lazy snort. “How could I, after the way you tired me out last night?”

Bucky smiles to himself. Steve is still playing with his hair, scratching his scalp. It feels really good. He hasn’t woken up with another person in his bed in a long time, it’s nice to have some company. Especially company as great as Steve.

“So last night was good?” Bucky asks. It was better than good for him, it was incredible, maybe the best sex he’s ever had.

“Good?” Steve props his head up with his elbow, giving the other man an odd look. “Bucky Barnes, you have bewitched me, body and soul.”

It takes Bucky a moment to recognize the phrase. “Did you just quote _Pride & Prejudice? _”

“I guess so? Is that too nerdy?” Steve’s goofy smile fills up his cheeks.

“I see your game, now, Rogers,” Bucky says with a cheeky smirk. “You look like a total jock, but you probably write sonnets in your spare time.”

“Want me to write one about you?” He clears his throat, then lifts one hand in a dramatic fashion. “Shall I compare thy buttocks to a Summer’s day?-”

“You can stop,” Bucky laughs, though he’s curious to know what he would’ve compared other body parts to.

Steve nudges Bucky’s bare shoulder, looking pleased with himself. “You sure? Just tell me when I’m getting annoying, you can kick me out of your bed.”

Bucky leans over to press a soft kiss to Steve’s lips. “Don’t think that’s possible.”

“Don’t speak too soon, you’ve only known me for a day,” Steve warns.

“Feels like longer.”

Bucky doesn’t know how true his words are until they leave his mouth. It feels like he’s known Steve for years and years, like they were together in a past life. Like they’re...Bucky doesn’t want to even think it, knows how hasty he’s being. (Like they’re meant to be.)

He never acts like this, he never makes something out of nothing.

But this isn’t nothing.

Right down to his bones, he knows Steve isn’t some random guy he’ll hook up with once and never call again. He doesn’t stay up half the night talking--among other things--to random hookups, he barely did that in the one serious relationship he had. But with Steve...

Before he starts to get too ahead of himself, Bucky goes through a mental checklist. He woke up to a beautiful man naked in his bed. He didn’t drink last night, no hangover. It’s Saturday, no work. And gazing at the starry-eyed man lying next to him, looking at Bucky like he’s worth something...no regrets.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading!! This fic started out with me brainstorming random words which happened to be drunk, dancing, and Cinderella (with the tie thing). I'm also such a dork for Bucky fawning over Steve...((heart eyes))  
> I haven't written in so long, but this is like the fastest fic I've ever written :0  
> Let me know what you think!


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